"Well, I'll be a star-gazing lunatic!" exclaimed Roger a few minutes
later. "You really think that you can blast this satellite out of its
orbit?"
"Not only that, Manning," said Connel with a smile, "but I might be able
to get it back to our sun faster than we could get back ourselves."
"Why that would be the biggest project ever attempted by man, sir," said
Tom. "You'd be transporting an entire satellite from one star system to
another!"
"That's right, Corbett," said Connel. "I've just finished talking to
Space Academy and they've given me permission to do anything I think
necessary to accomplish just that. Now pay close attention to me, all of
you. We haven't much time."
Tom, Roger, Astro, Alfie, and Mr. Shinny gathered in a close circle
around the major on the control deck of the _Polaris_ and watched him as
he drew several rough diagrams on a piece of paper.
"Getting the satellite back is the trickiest part of the whole
operation. Astro, are you sure you made a correct estimate on the amount
of reactant fuel in the _Space Devil_?"
"Yes, sir," replied Astro. "I checked it four times, and Mr. Shinny
checked it, too!"
"All right, then, listen," said Connel. "I've given the satellite a
name. From now on we call it Junior. And this will be known as Junior's
Pitch! I've explained how Junior is a captive satellite revolving around
Tara, the same way our Moon revolves around Earth. We have two problems.
One is to blast it out of Tara's grip. And the other is to take
advantage of Tara's orbital speed around its sun Alpha Centauri, _and_
Junior's orbital speed around Tara. We've got to combine the velocities
of the orbits, so that when we do spring Junior loose, he'll gain in
speed!"
"But how do we get the orbital speeds to help us, Major?" asked Alfie.
His glasses had slipped to the very end of his nose.
"If you'd give the major a chance, he'd tell you, Big Brain," drawled
Roger. Alfie gave Roger a withering look and turned back to the major.
"Do you remember when you were kids and tied a rock on the end of a rope
and then swung it around your head?" asked Connel.
"Sure, sorta like a slingshot," said Astro.
"That's right, Astro," said Connel, "and if you released the rope, the
rock would fly in the direction it was headed, _when you let go_!"
"I get it," cried Tom excitedly. "The gravity of Tara is the rope
holding Junior--ah"--he fumbled--"making it swing around!"
"And the reactant power of the _Space Devil_ placed in the right spot
would be the trigger to make it let go!" commented Roger.
"It's as simple as that, boys!" said Connel with a smile.
"But how in the blazing beams of the sun are you going to _stop_ that
blasted thing when you get it rolling?" asked Shinny.
"The chances of Junior hitting anything on the way home are so small it
doesn't present a problem. So we just aim Junior for our solar system!
Later on, arrangements can be made to steer it into an orbit around our
sun."
"You know," wheezed Shinny, his merry eyes twinkling, "that sounds
pretty neat!"
"It is," replied Connel. He leaned against the control-board desk top
and folded his arms across his massive chest. He looked at each of the
cadets and Shinny a long time before speaking. Finally he stepped
forward and stood among them, turning now and then to speak directly to
each of them.
"We have only four days, five hours, and some few minutes to pull Junior
out of Tara's grip, and later, the grip of Alpha Centauri. You boys will
have to work as you've never worked before. You'll do things you never
dreamed you could do. You'll work until your brains ache and your bodies
scream. But when you're finished, you will have accomplished one of
man's greatest challenges. You're going to do all this because I know
you can--and I'm going to see that you do! Is that clear?"
There was a barely audible "Yes, sir" from the cadets.
"The six of us, working together, are going to send a hunk of copper
fifteen miles in diameter hurtling through twenty-three million million
miles of space, so let's get that ball rolling. _Right now!_"
With Major Connel roaring, pleading, and blasting, four young cadets and
a derelict spaceman began the monumental task of assembling the mass of
information necessary for the satellite's big push through space. During
the three days that their project had been under way, Tom, Roger,
Astro, Alfie, and Mr. Shinny worked, as Major Connel promised, as they
had never worked before.
Late in the afternoon of the third day Connel stepped through the hatch
of the control deck where Tom was busy over a table of ratios for
balancing the amount of thrust from each of the reactant-power units.
The power units were to give Junior its initial thrust out of the
gravity of Tara.
"Well, Corbett," asked Connel, "how're you making out with the ratios?"
"I've finished them, sir," replied Tom, looking up at the major. His
face was drawn, his eyes red from lack of sleep. "But I just can't seem
to get a time for escaping the orbit on a true tangent."
"Have you tried making an adjustment for the overall pull of both
components?" asked Connel. "That of Tara and of Alpha Centauri on
Junior?" He picked up the paper Tom had been working on and glanced over
the figures.
"Yes, sir," replied Tom, "but I still can't seem to make it come out
right!"
"You'll get it, Tom," said Connel. "Go over it again. But remember.
Time's running out. Just one day and about twenty hours left." Connel's
voice was friendly--more friendly than at any time Tom could remember.
He smiled, and taking a fresh sheet of paper, he began the complicated
calculations of escape time all over again.
Connel slipped out of the control room and went below to the power deck,
where Astro and Mr. Shinny had been working without sleep for over fifty
hours. When Connel slipped into the room he found the two men puzzling
over a drawing board.
"What seems to be the trouble, Astro?" asked Connel.
Astro turned, startled. "We've tried building that lead baffle for the
reactant units five times now, sir," said Astro. "We're having a hard
time getting the correct amount of reactant power we need in a unit this
small."
"Maybe you're trying to make it _too_ small, Astro," commented Connel,
looking over the drawing. "Remember, this unit has but one job. To
_start_ the reaction. When the reaction fuel gets hot enough, it'll
start a reaction of the copper on Junior and sustain itself. Try a
smaller amount of the reactant. But whatever you do, keep working. Only
a day and a few hours left."
Connel looked at Shinny. "Keep him working, Mr. Shinny," he ordered. "I
know he can do it. Just keep him going."
Shinny grinned and nodded.
"I'll try, sir," said Astro, shaking his head, "but I won't guarantee
it--"
Connel cut him off with a roar. "Cadet Astro, I don't want your
guarantee! _I want that unit. Now build it!_"
Hour after hour the cadets racked their brains for what seemed like
impossible answers to an impossible task. Working until their eyes
closed fast shut, they would lie down right where they were--power deck,
control deck, or radar bridge--and sleep. They would awake, still
groggy, drink hot tea, eat cold sandwiches, and continue their struggle
with time and astrophysics.
One by one, the problems were solved and set aside for newer ones that
arose on the way. Each cadet worked in his particular field, and all of
their information was assembled and co-ordinated by Major Connel. More
than once, Connel had found the clever minds of his cadets reaching for
answers to questions he knew would have troubled the professors back at
Space Academy. Connel, his eye on the clock, his sharp tongue lashing
out when he thought he detected unclear thinking, raced from one
department to another while the incessant work continued. On the morning
of the fourth day he walked into the radar bridge where Roger and Alfie
had been working steadily for seventy-two hours on an electronic fuse to
trigger the reactant units.
"There you are, skipper," said Roger. "The fuse is all yours. Delivered
twelve hours ahead of time!"
"Good work, Roger. You too, Alfie. Excellent!" said Connel, his eyes
appraising the fuse.
"Ah, that's nothing, skipper," said Roger with a smile. "Anyone could
have done it with Alfie here to help. He's got a brain like a
calculator!"
"Now, I want to see how smart you two really are!" said Connel.
"Huh?" asked Roger stupidly. Alfie had slumped to the deck, holding his
head in his hands.
"I want a communications unit," said Connel, "that can send out a
constant beam, a signal Space Academy can pick up to follow Junior in
transit back to Earth."
"In twelve hours?" exploded Roger. "Impossible, skipper!"
"_Cadet Manning_," roared Connel, "I don't want your _opinion_, I asked
for that _unit_!"
"But one day, sir," said Roger. "Not even a day. Twelve hours. I can't,
sir. I'm sorry. I'm so tired I can't see straight."
Alfie let out a low moan.
Connel studied the two cadets. He was aware that he had already asked
them to do the impossible, and they had done it. And they deserved to be
let alone. But Major Connel wasn't himself unless he had given every
ounce of energy he had left, or the energy left in those around him. He
patted Roger on the shoulder and spoke softly.
"Roger, did I ever tell you that I think you have one of the finest
brains for electronics I've ever seen? And that Alfie is sure to have a
brilliant future in astrophysics?"
Roger stammered. "Why--ah--thank you, sir--"
Alfie looked up at Connel and then struggled to his feet.
"You know, Roger," he said haltingly, "if we took that unit we came out
here to test--you know, the transmitter unit--"
[Illustration]
Roger cut him off. "Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing. We could
borrow some of the reaction mass that Astro got out of the _Space
Devil_ and use that as a power source."
Connel backed away from the two cadets and tiptoed off the bridge. He
smiled to himself. He was going to win his race with time yet! And he
was going to do it because he had learned long before that you could
only push a man so far, then you had to sit down, pat him on the back,
tell him how smart he was, and he would push himself. Connel almost
laughed out loud.
Six hours later Connel sat in his quarters puzzling over one of the many
minor problems of Junior's Pitch when he heard footsteps behind him. He
turned. Astro, Tom, Roger, Alfie, and Shinny walked silently into the
room. Connel stared.
"Wha--what is it?" he demanded.
[Illustration]
"We're finished, sir," said Tom simply.
"Finished?" exploded Connel. "You mean--"
"That's what he means, skipper," said Shinny. His eyes were bloodshot
for want of sleep, but there was a merry twinkle left tugging at the
corners.
"Everything?" asked Connel.
"Everything, sir," said Roger. "The power units are built and the fuses
installed. All it needs is to be set. Tom's worked out the ratios and
the amount of reactant fuel needed in each unit for escape tangent. The
escape time, combining orbital speeds of Tara and Junior, are completed,
and we have six hours and fifty-five minutes before blast-off!" He
turned and rumpled Alfie's hair. "Alfie and I have completed the
communications unit and have tested it. Junior is ready to get his big
kick in the pants!"
Connel stood up. He was speechless. It was almost too much to believe.
"_Get below_," he roared, "and go to sleep! If I catch one of you awake
in five minutes, I'll log you fifty demerits!"
The tired workers grinned back at their commander.
"I'll get everything set," said Connel, "and wake you up an hour before
we have to get things ready. Now _hit the sack!_"
Their grins spreading even wider on their haggard faces, they turned
away. Connel stepped to the desk on the control deck and wrote across
the face of the logbook page.
"... October 2nd, 2353. Space Cadets Corbett, Manning, Astro, and
Higgins and ex-enlisted spaceman Nicholas Shinny completed this day all
preparation for operation Junior's Pitch. By authority vested in me as
Senior Officer, Solar Guard, I hereby recommend official commendation
of "_well done_" to the above-mentioned spacemen, and that all honors
pursuant to that commendation be officially bestowed on them. Signed,
Connel, Major, SO--SG ..."
He closed the book and wiped the corners of his eyes with the back of
his hand.
[Illustration]